Never Forget
by Tofs
Summary: Through his younger and adult years, Arthur faces loved ones' deaths, and the passing of people he doesn't know as well as he could and should have. He deals with it in his own way, but still wonders if it's the right way. Through it all, he's thankful he has Morgana for a sister and a friend. (Modern AU, A/M, no major character death, Tristan de Bois)


**A/N: Hey, guys... This is a complete AU. Modern day.  
><strong>

**I'd like to specifically thank Henry Vyne for pushing me to finish this fanfiction instead of just keeping the rest of it in my head and away from the computer! So thanks, Henry. :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own 0% of Merlin. If I had any say in what went on with that show, I guarantee you, it would have ended differently.**

**Longer A/N at the bottom if you care at all about the background of this story, and/or want the ages for these guys.**

* * *

><p>Arthur lay on his bed, resting the back of his head in his hands and counting his estimated inches of the ceiling. He was tired; his eyes hurt and his stomach was churning. But he didn't want to sleep. That was actually the furthest thing from what he wanted right then. Earlier that day, he'd gone to his uncle's funeral. Uncle Tristan. The name was odd to him; he'd only met the man a handful of times and he called him uncle. It had never felt right; uncle always felt like a name for someone who felt like family. He knew that if his uncle had lived longer, calling him that would have gotten more normal and easier, until he didn't even think about it. But the last time he'd seen the man alive, he had been eight.<p>

And then he was still asking his dad "what does 'uncle' mean again?" and "so is he your brother or was he Mum's?" Uncle had just been a title for a man you barely knew who stared at you weirdly. He thought back to previous years and remembered telling his dad that (that Uncle Tristan kept looking at him funny; kind of sad and curious, but really happy too) and he'd replied, saying that Arthur looked a lot like his mum and that Uncle Tristan missed her very much. Looking at Arthur always reminded everyone of her. When Arthur heard that, he was upset for one of the most childish reasons he could later think of: he was jealous. He always heard that his mum was beautiful and sweet, and that everyone knew he would be exactly like her. This guy had grown up with her and apparently thought the same thing.

But Arthur never got to meet her, and his dad barely ever talked about her. So next time he saw 'Uncle Tristan' at Christmas, he just walked right up to him and asked, "Do I really look like my mum?"

The man looked down at him with wide, surprised eyes, then they got a little watery and he bent down so that he could look Arthur in the eye. He slipped his mobile from his pocket and looked down at it for maybe a minute while his thumb moved around the touch-screen. Arthur just stood there, watching his face with curiosity, trying to see if this man –his mum's brother- looked like her too. Uncle Agrevaine sure didn't; Arthur could see that without having to get out his old picture of her. But with this man kneeling in front of him….

"Ah…." It was both an exclamation of success and a soft, sad sigh. Uncle Tristan raised his mobile and turned it so that Arthur could see it. There, on the screen, was a copy of an old picture of a girl he knew was his mother (which had obviously been scanned onto the mobile) sitting with her two brothers and grinning shyly into the camera. She looked really young. "Your mum was your age when this picture was taken. This is actually her birthday; she was turning eight. That's me on the left, and Uncle Agrevaine on the right."

Arthur studied the picture thoroughly, and actually saw a lot of what he saw in the mirror in her. She just looked more girly. He looked up at his uncle, then down again at the picture, then back to his uncle. "You look a lot like her too." And he did. Arthur could see the same soft eyes, and their lips looked kind of the same. Even if Uncle Tristan's jaw was wider, his hair was the same blond, and it looked so soft, just like his mother's always did.

Uncle Tristan laughed and tucked the mobile away. "Thank you, Arthur. That's a true compliment; she was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Is."

"What?"

Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets and snuck an anxious glance at his dad, who was discussing something (probably boring) with Uncle Agrevaine. Father hadn't liked it when he told him this. But Uncle Tristan was obviously different. So he swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and said what he was thinking. "I like to think my mum's just sitting in a nice place where she doesn't do anything but smile. I'm gonna join her when I die and we'll just laugh all the time. And she'll hold me and sing to me like other mums do in kid's books. And- and when I'm really alone, now, I can visit her. But only if I really need help with something. Like when my kitten died. I know it's only make-believe! But… it feels like it isn't."

He looked at Uncle Tristan just in time to see the man swiftly wipe a hand over his left eye, leaving a shiny streak leading off his face. "That's a wonderful thought, Arthur. Just wonderful. I like to think something like that too."

Arthur grinned at the approval of his most important secret. He didn't know quite why; still doesn't, but he just reached out and hugged him, tight around the neck. "That's good. I thought she was all alone there 'cept for me."

Uncle Tristan hugged back, just as tight, and sniffed. "Yeah."

Just then, Dad had called Arthur, and they pulled away. It was time to go. Sitting in the car on the ride back home, Arthur looked out the window at all the passing people and buildings. His uncle was still kind of weird, and Arthur didn't know him very well at all. But he had been kind, and he'd been a lot nicer than Dad when he talked about Mum. And he'd shown him the picture and hugged him. He was Arthur's favorite uncle then, and he knew he always would be. He'd even always be his favorite relative, even more than his grandmas and grandpa.

That had been only three years ago, and Arthur'd only sent him silly kid's drawings since then, with little messages about his school or a new game he'd played with his friends. Uncle Tristan sent a letter for each picture he got with a little hard candy. He even sent some before getting anything. They were each pretty short, but they were nice. Arthur still had them in the box where he kept his most important letters and pictures. Now, lying in his dark room, he thought to them and sits up. After just a couple minutes, he had them dug out of the box and was reading through them all; soaking all the memories they contained.

Sitting there, on the night of his uncle's funeral, Arthur felt very alone. He wasn't crying, but… he felt like it. His throat burned and his stomach was still churning. He momentarily thought back to that 'special place' he imagined his mother in, and in a flash, Uncle Tristan was sitting next to her, holding her hand and laughing. Arthur's heart twinged and he shut his eyes tight, shaking his head hard, sending the image away and leaving his with a light, but throbbing head, and a couple tear streaks on his face. His bit his bottom lip to stop the sob rising up, leaving it to burn sickly in his throat, and fell sideways on the bed, holding the crumpled letters to his chest.

He didn't really know why he was so sad and lonely now that his uncle was gone; it wasn't like he'd really known him anyway. But in thinking that, Arthur realized that that was the problem. All his life, he'd just wished he'd met his mother; wished he'd been old enough when she died to remember her afterwards. But all he had was pictures and sad faces telling him about her. And he hated it. But this was actually worse. He'd never had a chance to meet his mum, and he couldn't blame that on anyone. But he'd had a chance to really know his uncle. He was only eleven, but that was enough time to learn a few small things that made people friends: their favorite card game, favorite place, best memory, or even simply a favorite color!

The point was, he'd had a chance to meet someone nice, who knew his mother and liked him, -who was his uncle! and he hadn't taken it. He didn't think to take it until the man was dead. He looked at his entire life and saw all the people he'd met and liked, but never took the time to really know. Every face he saw, he now regretted not remembering. And he knew it was stupid, what he was doing! Tearing himself up for not caring about practical strangers when he was just a kid. But still. Uncle Tristan had just been thirty-three when he died; he probably thought he'd have twice that much time, and even more! But he died so sudden; no one was expecting it. Arthur could die tomorrow, in a car crash, just like his uncle, and the only person who would know him at all would be his dad. Just 'cause he didn't take the time to talk!

After realizing that, he didn't want to waste another second on wishing he'd done something different. He sat up and wiped the tears from his face. He put the letter box back in its cubby in the closet, and slipped out of his room. He padded nearly silently across the hall to Morgana's. Morgana was someone who he really didn't know. And with what the mood he was in now, he thought that was pretty darn stupid; he lived with her. Two years ago, Morgana's mum and dad (his dad's best friends) died when someone robbed their house and killed them. She came to live with him, his dad having been named her legal guardian in their wills. The kids hated each other, and even they didn't know why.

When he saw light shining through the cracks between the walls, the floor, and her door, he knocked quietly and waited a couple seconds for her to open the door, poking her head out. Her eyes narrowed slightly when she saw him, but he spoke before she could snap out her traditional "What?" for every time he addressed her. "I know you were probably trying to get to sleep…" they both knew he knew she wasn't, so he darted his eyes to the floor and their socked feet. "And this is going to sound really silly, but… after today-" he swallowed. "After today, I'm really lonely and- I don't want to be alone." He glanced up at her through his bangs and saw her whole person switch from impatient to understanding.

"You forget I lost both my parents recently, Arthur." She was addressing his calling the situation silly. She looked back in her room and held a finger up. "I'll be right back." She disappeared, and Arthur shuffled her feet, waiting for her. She came back with a fluffy pillow and a huge quilt. "Lead the way." He did. When they were snuggled back in his bed, her with her own blankets at his feet, she turned and started the conversation she was there for. "So what's this all about? I thought you didn't really know Tristan."

"That's the problem." He frowned when she did. "I met him a few times, at family get-togethers. Which weren't that often, since Dad doesn't have any siblings, and Mum just had her two brothers…. Agrevaine's my only uncle now." At her increasing frown, he snapped out of his thoughts and kept explaining. "I didn't really know him. But last time I saw him- alive, I mean…. I really liked him. He talked about my mum, and showed me an old picture of them as kids. He even sent me letters afterwards, and I'd draw him pictures. I never really thought of him as more than that cool guy who sounded like he understood how I missed my mother and occasionally sent me sweets. I think that when I got older, I'd want to know him more and actually have conversations with him. Like I want to now. But now I can't."

"I get how that feels." Morgana looked kind of uncomfortable with the subject that they were on, but she was pushing through it. "My great uncle- Uncle Fred… was really old when I was six. I saw him just a couple months before he died in his sleep, and he looked so happy to see me. Like I was really special. But I was afraid of him 'cause of how he looked. How old he was. His skin was wrinkly and hung around his face and hands, and he barely had any hair. I couldn't think about anything but 'I don't ever want to look like that!'" Arthur would have laughed under different circumstances, but that didn't stop Morgana. She rolled onto her back and giggled, but sobered after a second. "After he died- as soon as I heard, I wanted to see him again, and talk to him.

"I realized that he was looking at me like I was special, 'cause I was!" I was his brother's granddaughter and it was the first time he'd ever seen me. I'd lived in Ireland most of my life before that." Arthur nodded. He'd known that, and was more than a little jealous. "Anyway…. I just wanted to talk to him again. It was like after he died, I realized he was a _person_ and might be interesting; he deserved to be talked to by his great niece. But when I had a chance, I didn't take it. It's by far worse than missing it."

"Yeah. There's really nothing we can do."

"Which is why I moved on. That's why I don't think about what I wanted to tell my parents. That's why I ignore my conscience every time I remember a time that I'd yelled at my dad or mum, or disobeyed them, and didn't think to apologize and mean it. That's why when I visit their graves, and I know they can't hear me just 'cause I'm near their bodies, I don't cry and admit every secret I ever had and didn't tell them."

Arthur didn't really know what to say to that. Not when he only stopped visiting his mum in her 'happy place' just a couple months ago. "Do you let go?"

She turned her head and considered him with a quizzical look on her face. "No. No, never that. They're always here with me, even if they aren't really. I'm not going to let go of them. I've got their memories. I just don't see the point in relieving my guilty mind by confessing little things that never mattered to their corpses."

There was really nothing to say to _that_. "I can get over not knowing Uncle Tristan. I doubt he really cared that much about me, and he probably only really thought about me when I sent him a letter." He felt a little guilty saying that, since he had five letters his uncle had sent to him without any prompting, not counting a card with a gift each birthday. Though he hadn't sent one this year. "At least not much." Not much better. "But I don't want it to happen again. I don't want to let any chances slip past me. I mean- I'm looking at my life, and I've done nothing! I know nothing!"

"Arthur, you're eleven. What, do you want a desk and business cards right now?"

"No, I don't mean like that." He threw a spare pillow at her face when he realized that she was almost teasing. "I mean… I barely have any friends. I don't care about my school, and… I'm living with you and don't like you even when I don't know who you are." She raised an eyebrow, but oddly enough, neither of them really felt like the statement was insulting. It was just truth. "And I don't know when that's going to change. I want it to change now."

"So that's why you called me in?"

"I called you in 'cause I needed someone to talk to, and… yeah."

"Alright!" She got up on her knees and let her blanket fall at her sides. "Where do we start?"

"What?"

"You said you don't even know who I am and you already don't like me. We'll ask each other questions, and you can hate me knowing everything about me."

Arthur laughed and sat up too, crossing his legs. "What's your favorite color?"

She snorted. "Original. Purple."

"Blue.

"Favorite animal.

"Dolphin."

"Kitten. Best memory?"

Arthur paused. "I really don't know. I guess…. It's either when my dad took me to the zoo - and I saw polar bears swimming on their backs, or the last time I met Uncle Tristan. I was eight and we talked about my mother. You?" It was surprisingly easy to talk now.

"My mum and dad took me out for ice cream when I was six. I barely remember it but I know it was the best day of my life. Uh…. Favorite game?"

"Mh. Exploding Snap."

"_Real_ game." Arthur shrugged. "Fine. Quidditch. And if you had given a game in actual existence, mine would have been tag."

"Tag? Seriously? That's almost as boring as Duck-Duck-Goose."

"I beg your pardon!" The scandalized and snobbish tone was laughable.

"I'm serious! If you're gonna play tag, why not just Capture the Flag? It's got the chasing, but it's so much better."

"Capture the Flag?"

Arthur's eyes widened. "Are you serious? You've never played Capture the Flag?"

Morgana shook her head. "Not once in my life."

"We're playing. Tomorrow. Get your friends, and I'll get mine. We'll teach you."

"And then I'll beat you."

"You think so?" He scoffed at her certain nod. "How fast can you run?"

"Fast enough to avoid _you_."

He pushed the blankets off his knees. "Wanna bet?"

She was gone in a flash, and Arthur was following in another. He let out a breathy laugh when she squeaked after turning her head and seeing how close he was. She darted down the stairs, swinging on the railing at the turn, and gripped the wall to help her momentum in flying to the living room. But she still wasn't fast enough. Arthur pounced at precisely the right time, and she landed with an "oof!" on her stomach, and he wasted no time in sitting on her to pin her down, holding her hands to the floor with his knees. It took two seconds to get his hands brushing lightly over her ribs.

"Crap! Arthur, don't you dare!" She yelped her 'dare' when he pushed his fingers further to the floor and on her ribs. "Arthur, I am _so serious_! Uther's sleeping right above us!" It was true, but Arthur was having too much fun with this to care about his dad getting upset. It's not like he wasn't always like that anyway. He moved to her neck and grinned when her shoulders and head squished together. But he already had two fingers each pressed in, so he just wiggled them where they were trapped. She barely had any time 'til she was breathless but still almost screaming with laughter.

"What is this? Arthur, get off of Morgana this instant!" Okay, so maybe he did care. He'd rolled off of Morgana in a millisecond and was helping her up. "What are you two doing out of bed?"

"We couldn't sleep," Morgana tried.

"That doesn't _begin_ to explain why you're down here playing like it's the middle of the day."

"It was my fault, Father." He ignored the glare Morgana shot him for taking the blame. "I was chasing her and didn't stop when she told me to."

"He was chasing me because I teased him. This is just as much my fault as his."

Uther sighed where he stood in his robe. "So you two couldn't get to sleep… so you just chased each other down the halls until you reached the living room?"

"Pretty much."

"Then get to bed. No more talking tonight. If you can't sleep, then read using your nightlights."

Knowing they weren't going to be punished, the children relaxed and made their way past Uther. Morgana slipped her hand in Arthur's when they reached the stairs, and halfway up he whispered to her.

"Morgana?"

"Yeah?"

"No more talking!" They both cringed, but didn't look back to where Uther was standing at the bottom of the stair case.

"This is my new favorite memory."

She stopped and hugged him. "And without a doubt, you're going to be my new best friend." He hugged back, tight, and wished her goodnight before heading back to his room. Her pillow and blanket were still there so he folded the blanket and stacked it with the pillow under the bed, at the foot. He'd give it back in the morning. He snuggled in bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He still felt sad about Uncle Tristan, but just barely. There was no use in hanging on to what was no longer anything. He wouldn't do the kind of letting go that he was asking Morgana about earlier, but her explanation sounded pretty good… for what he'd do with his uncle's memory. And maybe a few visits to his mother and him, since he knew that he'd like that. Without a doubt.

In Arthur happy world, Tristan smiled and kissed his sleeping nephew's hair.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The next morning, Uther pushed a sealed and stamped letter in front of Arthur's cereal bowl. "Arthur." He stopped speaking there, with an odd expression on his face. He looked uncomfortable and almost pitying. Both of those were things you didn't see often on the man's face. He looked to be holding his breath, so Arthur picked the letter up and looked at its back. When he saw the _To: _and _From:_ his stomach plummeted. "This was in your uncle's home. Jim gave it to me at the funeral yesterday. I didn't want to give it to you then; it didn't seem the time. But I don't think it will ever feel right, so I decided that now would be as good as any to let you have it."

Arthur barely heard his father's uncharacteristic rambling over the blood in his ears and throat. He stood, forgetting his food and Morgana's worried look coupled with Uther's. Climbing swiftly up the stairs, he bit his lip and took deep breaths. He'd meant it the night before when he'd decided that he was going to move on, but he felt sick holding the heavy letter in his right hand. He kicked his door shut and pulled his letter box from the closet again before climbing in his bed and under the blankets. He tore the envelope open and held his breath when he pulled the folded paper out. His uncle's elegant handwriting covered every inch with thick, black ink. Arthur curled up on his side and held the letter open, starting at the beginning.

_Dear Arthur,_

_How's my favorite nephew? Don't let the fact that you're my only nephew get to you. What matters is you're the best._

_I know that at the moment you should be accusing me of being a terrible uncle because I didn't give you a birthday gift this year - not even a note! And I feel awful because of it. Believe me when I tell you that I didn't forget about it; I just never got around to it, which is the worst (but most truthful) excuse I could give you. Don't believe me when I tell you I'm not lazy. I'm afraid I still don't have a gift for you, even three weeks later. So in the envelope, you either have found or will find some money. Drag your father and Morgana out of the house and buy yourselves some ice cream. That's just an apology for being so late. I promise that your real gift will be in your house by next week. I have plans._

_You're eleven now, Arthur. Do you feel like it? That's a big number. I remember when I turned eleven; your mum was teasing me that I'd have a beard soon, which was utterly ridiculous, and still is. (I don't think a beard will ever suit me.) But I did feel older that day. I put on my nicest vest, combed my hair back and walked around like I had something to be proud of when really I'd just slept another night. I can't remember what my parents gave me (please don't tell them that!), but your mother and Uncle Agrevaine thought it would be funny if they co-bought me a scarf and a pair of fuzzy, colorful socks. When I opened the package I was disappointed, because who really wants winter-wear as their once-a-year gift? But when all of my other scarves and socks went mysteriously missing, I learned to appreciate them._

_And I got back at my siblings on Christmas. But that's a story for another time._

_I want to apologize for taking so long to write to you. I know it's been a while since we talked, and I'm sorry for that. So I'm going to make it up to you. As soon as I find the time (and trust me, that will be soon!) I'm going to drive up to see you. We'll spend an evening at a park, and I'll buy you a treat, providing we have your father's permission, and tell you a few stories about your mum. I'll even take you to see a late film, if that isn't pushing your bed time too far._

_Much love,_

_Uncle Tristan_

That was where it ended, like it usually did. Arthur tried to push down the queasy feeling that was stirring in his stomach. His uncle had been so sure he'd see him again- _soon!_ It was obvious through the whole letter. There were so many stories he'd been planning on telling Arthur- about his mum and himself. He thought he'd have the time. Arthur swallowed and set the paper aside before slipping his fingers into the envelope. Sure enough, there was some money there; enough to buy a small treat to share between three people. He tucked the bills back into the envelope, along with the letter, and put them in his box with the rest of them.

He was just turning around when there was a soft knock on the door and Morgana shyly poked her head through. "Arthur?" He smiled when he saw her, and pulled her into his room for a hug. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm fine." He pulled back and smiled again, this time with teeth. It only felt distantly empty. "I- it was a letter from Uncle Tristan, that he never mailed. His partner, Jim, gave it to Dad at the funeral. It was weird. He wrote that he was making plans to come see me, and spend a day with me since it'd been so long since we talked. He even said he had some stories to tell me. And now- I'll never hear them. I realized when I was up here that he was the only one I knew even a little bit who actually talked to me about Mum."

"There's still your grandparents and Agrevaine, right?"

"Yeah. It's just…."

"I know. Every day you find one more thing that's gone." They stood in silence for a few moments, not sure what to say next, and not feeling a need to press for more conversation. It was an odd, but comfortable silence. Suddenly, Morgana brightened. "Capture that flag!"

_"Yes!_ I'll call my mates."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Fifteen years later, Arthur sat alone in a coffee shop. The top two buttons of his soiled formal shirt were undone and his black tie hung loose around his neck; his hair was in frightful disarray from the countless times he'd run his hands through it since morning. He looked up to see that the barista was giving him a heavy mix of disapproving and pitying looks again, and that he was now the only customer there, besides a young couple who were getting their drinks. They made a point to not look at him. He supposed he would fit in better at a pub, what with how he looked and _why_ he was that way, but he wasn't in the mood for alcohol, and this was the first quiet-looking place he'd seen.

Earlier that day, Arthur had attended the funeral of Uther Pendragon. The man had died peacefully in his sleep, which had honestly discomforted Arthur when he'd heard. He'd always though his father would be dragged from life kicking and screaming, cursing up a storm and threatening to sue. It felt more than unnatural that he'd leave so smoothly (to their knowledge), leaving a sleepy son to get a completely unexpected call in the morning; he'd had no indication that his father's heath was failing, and neither had any of his doctors, apparently. Everything about the passing was still strange, though talk of murder hadn't lasted long after a thorough, but brief investigation.

So there Arthur sat, lacking motivation to drown himself in alcohol, (which he never did anyway. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sought out a drink to solve his problems.) and not sure why he was in a café, even, instead of lying in his bed, cuddled in the arms of probably the most understanding man in the world for his present situation. Even though Arthur wasn't sure what he needed, he knew it wasn't a lover to plant light kisses on his head. And now he also knew it wasn't to sit with nothing but his hazy brain for company.

So since 'alone' wasn't working, Arthur pulled out his mobile and scrolled through his contacts, trying to find _someone_ who might benefit the situation. He was only done with _C_s before he'd changed his mind and sympathetic company was the worst idea he'd had in over five years. He dropped the mobile on the table and threaded his fingers through his hair, simultaneously rubbing at his tired eyes with his palms. He felt odd. He couldn't say he was grieving his father's passing, but he was far from celebrating. If he had to put it some way, he'd say he's still in shock. He _had_ been woken at six in the morning on a Sunday to be told that his dad had died the previous night.

He felt - days later, that that had just been – and still _was _a foggy dream, and he had yet to wake up. Every time he tried to think of the fact that he would never have to - or get to, (he hadn't decided yet) see his father again there was some sort of mental block; he just couldn't process it. He felt distantly guilty for not caring more; for not being more emotional and tearing himself up. But at the same time… he was wondering why he hadn't already picked up and moved on. He was stuck. It was like his tear ducts were sealed shut, but there was nothing he needed more than a big smack of bitter realization and a good cry. Even though that was bloody ridiculous.

He hadn't felt this lost since his Uncle Tristan had died, though that was for the entirely opposite reason. Arthur had been troubled over how much his uncle's death had affected him when he barely knew the man. And now he was trying to figure out why he wasn't clinging to his father's tombstone like a madman. He saw his coffee and took a large drink on impulse. He grimaced at the cold taste and hid his head, and consequentially his mobile under his arm. He may or may not have drifted off when it started vibrating from beneath his elbow and he heard Morgana's ringtone.

He almost didn't answer. He was about to deny the call when he saw his sister smiling at him from her picture. Something heavy in his chest lifted, and his thumb hesitated before switching to _'accept'_. "Yes?"

"I hear from a certain worried and anonymous source that you left your flat for some time alone. He said he understood, but an hour's ticked by, and you haven't made your way back home. He was afraid to call and interrupt your solo mourning, but was starting to get worried. He really called to ask if _I_ was with you, but since I'm not, I thought I'd check in."

"Tell him I'm fine. I'm just…" He dragged a hand down his face. "Tired. And home doesn't sound too good right now."

"I'm sure he understands." Arthur blinked at that. Morgana sounded- not pitying, but understanding, and patient. Also sad. "But tell me. When you want to be 'alone'… does that include your sister?"

Arthur smiled, and quickly gave her the name of the coffee shop and its rough location.

"I'll be there in ten, maybe twenty if your directions are bullshit. Do you mind if I make a quick call to Mister Anonymous first?"

"Please do. And tell him I'm sorry… for- for doing this."

"He really does understand, Arthur. He just wanted to make sure you're safe." She took a pause to clear her throat of the affection lacing her words. "I want a hot coffee waiting for me. And don't you dare make it that liquidated crap you drink. Get me the usual."

Arthur just laughed. "Will do." But even after she ended the call, he made no move to get her drink. He knew she wasn't expecting him to.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

True to her word, she was there in twenty minutes. Arthur had to admit- he was glad to see here there, gliding through the doors and falling into the seat opposite him. "So tell me what this is about."

_Always direct and straight to the point._ He pulled his cup back into his hands and wished it was warm again. "I can't decide what to think about his death. It was so… sudden and unexpected. I have no idea what to do." Then he found the words he was looking for. "It's about not feeling anything. And being not so sure that's a bad thing."

"If you want my advice…" She didn't wait for the nod she knew was coming. "Just carry on. Pick up life where you dropped it, sort through his business and whether you _really_ want to take it over, or find your own career, despite Uther's arseholic wishes…. And eventually, you may just come to terms with the fact that Sunday brunch with your father's long gone."

Arthur couldn't help laughing at that. It was true that, despite his current predicament, he _was_ glad to be done with the one thing stopping him from a whole twenty-four hours of lazy Sundays in his flat. But as soon as he finished that thought, he realized that he _would_ miss it. "Morgana. Do you think this might just be the same problem I had with Tristan, but more?"

"Same problem as in…."

"Time. Realizing – _again – _that I didn't appreciate what I had when I had it."

"I see."

Arthur could only give a small "yeah" in return before looking down and wishing he had a fresh cup… again.

After maybe a couple minute's silence, Morgana leaned forward and started talking again. "Arthur, I don't think it matters if it's the same problem as before. You've known since day one that life's a precious thing, and you can lose it with a snap of anyone's fingers. You also know the ones who stay behind are far worse off." At Arthur's raised eyebrow, she waved a hand behind her. "You know the saying, '_do not pity the dead; pity the living_,' and such?"

"Harry Potter?" Arthur fought hard to not show his amusement.

"Hey. I didn't put a name at the end of the quote for a reason. We're getting off topic. _As I was saying…_ it doesn't matter if you're going through this for the same reason you did when you were eleven. What matters is you need to snap out of it. Because –as I think we've already said before- life isn't going to _wait_ for you to mourn, Arthur. While you're too busy wondering if you should have bought your dad a bigger last birthday gift, you're going to forget you have a pretty, shiny ring stashed in your bottom drawer, and you're going to _miss _the right moment to get down on bended knee." Morgana sighed and took his hand in her own, and repeated herself. "Life _isn't_ going to wait, Arthur. It doesn't matter if you watch out for it - she'll steal you blind.

"So yes, you can mourn the dead, but only for a while. _Never forget_, but… move on. Accept that you'll never always have anything and let go when it's time. But don't let that ruin what you have now." She smiled. "We're lucky we're not messes over Uther's death. If we don't care he's gone, who gives a flying fuck? That means you've got more time to be happy. Go home, Arthur. Get out of your funk and stop living with the dead."

Arthur blinked. And blinked again. "Shit, Morgana, when'd you get smart?"

She smirked. "I've had seventeen years to work through how to handle 'life's cycle'. I know a lot of what I said sounded overly dramatic, and… maybe kind of cryptic at times, but as far as I can see, it's the truth."

Arthur half-hugged her over the table and made to leave, content to ignore the lingering feeling of _empty_ floating in his stomach in favor of thinking through his sister's words. "Arthur?" He turned, and Morgana gave one of her rare sweet smiles. "I've also had seventeen years to get over my parents' death, and to come to terms. Take your time. Just make sure you're not putting everything else on hold for it."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

When Arthur closed the front door behind him, he did so softly. Merlin was curled up on a couch, nestled in a blanket with his mobile held in one lax hand, and a book in the other. His lips were pouted slightly, and his eyes were shut; his soft snores were barely loud enough for Arthur to hear. He toed his shoes off and left his jacket and tie on a chair as he passed. He knelt by his boyfriend, carded a hand through his dark hair, and woke him with a kiss. Merlin's eyes fluttered open after he was responding, and he curled his free hand around the back of Arthur's neck. "I'm sorry for making you worry."

Merlin's lids fluttered a few more times, before they snapped open and he sat upright. "Shit." He pressed his mobile to the side of his head not realizing he was still holding it. "I fell asleep."

"You did." Arthur moved to the couch and kissed Merlin's temple. "I was gone too long."

Merlin was still blinking away sleep, but frowned at that. "No, it's okay. I understand you needed time to yourself. I'm sorry for calling Morgana. I just-"

"No worries. We talked for a bit; she sorted me out. Or at least started to."

Merlin hummed a 'good' and kissed him before hopping off the couch and heading for the kitchen, obviously deciding to not press, but Arthur stood and stopped him.

"Merlin?" Merlin paused and turned, and in a second, Arthur was in his arms. "I'm sorry for leaving like that. I shouldn't have."

Merlin hugged back, nuzzling into his neck. "Arthur, I understand. It's alright, it's really fine. You have no reason to be sorry; you didn't do anything wrong. I know what you're going through. I was worried when you didn't want me with you, for a bit, but-. You're going through a hard time, Arthur. Take it slow and you'll come out on top. I'm always here if you need me, but if you don't, that's okay too. But I _am_ always here. I'll wait as long as you need to get things sorted out again."

There were no words to describe what Arthur felt just then. He couldn't form anything. He could only sweep Merlin into the most thankful, loving, needing, and adoring kiss he would ever give. "I love you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading! I'm sorry for the complete oddness of this story. Look below for the best explanation I can give. :P**

**I wrote this mainly for two reasons:**

**One: it kills me that Tristan de Bois is barely ever mentioned in modern fanfictions. If not in medieval times, the dude wouldn't have challenged Uther to a duel, and would have survived (hopefully) much longer. And he was an awesome character, in my opinion, so this started out as just wanting to get ****_something_**** out there not only mentioning him, but about him. Then the rest of the plot fell into place...**

**Two: I've missed a good amount of my life worrying about the future or the past, and people I wish I knew better, and people I wish I could appreciate more 'cause I know that eventually, I probably won't have the chance. (I say that like I've stopped. No! I still do it! :/ ) I don't know if many other people find themselves in that situation, but... it made me feel a bit better to sort out some thoughts by finding kindred spirits in my own characters...**

**It's very hard to explain the emotions I feel when I'm in a funk like that. I tend to ramble alot when I talk about it. I thought It'd be better if I wrote the stuff down, but apparently no. :P **

**Yup. Those are the two. :D**

**By now this one-shot fits into a whole world of mine. I hope to write more for the universe eventually. I guess that depends on what you guys think of this! (Trust me, more would be much less heavy/empty than this. Like Arthur meeting Merlin, and the knights coming in and such.)**

**Oh, yeah! Ages:**

**When Arthur meets Tristan for the last time:**

**Arthur: 8**

**Tristan: 30**

**When Tristan died:**

**Arthur: 11**

**Tristan: 33**

**Morgana: 14**

**When Uther died:**

**Arthur: 26  
><strong>

**Morgana: 29**

**Merlin: 24**

* * *

><p><strong>I love reviews. Just saying.<strong>


End file.
